Peanutbutter Sandwiches
by Dai-choo-choo
Summary: Who ever thought dinner tasted better when it was 2:37 in the afternoon? Especially when Daddy did the cooking… KyouTama fluff, oneshot.


KyouTama pairing. All characters belong to Bisco Hatori, and her amazing mind. As well as Kyouya's house, his kitchen, and his clock. Hatori-sama owns EVERYTHING.

Who ever thought dinner tasted better when it was 2:37 in the afternoon? Especially when Daddy did the cooking… KyouTama fluff.

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The red numbers that sat upon his bedside table told him that it was 2:37 P.M. - and if it was any other night, he would have believed it. But due to the fact that the clock was blinking periodically, and had been for the past two hours and thirty seven minutes, the young Ootori didn't even glance at its digital reading. Nearly five hours off, it was useless to even look at it, let alone get up from his work and go reset it. Not when the small reading at the top of his screen worked perfectly well for telling the time. The little black numbers told him that it was, in fact, not 2:37 A.M., but 11:09 P.M. It had been two hours and thirty seven minutes since the power had surged, shutting off the false clock and causing it to reset; nearly six hours since he had heard the door to his wing slam and had seen a figure walk in and into the kitchen which Kyouya had put in a year or so ago.

At first thought, Kyouya was sure that it had been his older sister, Fumi, who had so rudely entered his wing without so much than a knock. She had been known to do just that every once in a while, deciding that her brother's wing was the perfect place to practice her wife-skills which she had yet to prefect; but after hearing rustling around the kitchen, and a few words from that figure, he knew that it was not his sister. Because, no matter how badly she was doing, she had yet to utter a single curse in front of him. It didn't matter to her that he was a year from graduating, didn't matter that he himself and cursed multiple times within her presence...he was still her younger brother, and she restrained herself from the use of bad language.

But the figure which had entered his wing, and had so happily walked into his kitchen, was cursing. Yes, it had taken that figure over an hour before he began to mutter, then speak aloud, then yell, those words - but instantly the third Ootori son had figured out who was in his home uninvited. Not that he ever needed an invitation, the out-going boy thought of Kyouya's home as much as his own. Well, his wing, at least. The clanking and swearing which came from underneath the ebony-eyed boy helped him come to one conclusion of what was going on. A conclusion that he rathered not to think about.

Tamaki Suou was cooking.

Or, at least, trying to. An hour after the swearing had begun, it had taken another hour or so before he had heard the slamming of cub bards and the throwing of pots and pans. Kyouya had seen no need to go down and greet the blond, and had, in fact, not moved from his set at his desk, thin fingers typing furiously and the silver pineapple computer in front of him. It had been two hours and thirty seven minutes since the power had surged, shutting off the false clock and causing it to reset; nearly six hours since he had heard the door to his wing slam and had seen a disgruntled figure walk in and into the kitchen which Kyouya had put in a year or so ago. And eleven hours and counting since Kyouya had opened his laptop, deciding that he was going to spend his free day to get a few things done.

Of course, the things he needed to get done varied - he had nearly a hundred emails to reply to, a few of which were from Ranka-san, questioning the Host Club and his daughter's part in it. Many others were from various businesses, all of which had something to do with cosplay days which Tamaki had planned. And then there were the majority of his emails, all of which were from customers, either personal emails to him, or inquiring about other members of the Club. He had just managed to get done with replying to those emails when the king had entered his home, and had decided that maybe he needed to do a bit more planning for upcoming events with Host Club.

In other words, he did not wish to walk down his flight of stairs to find what had become of his kitchen. The power surge had not bothered him, the laptop having not been connected to the power at the time, and the swearing and sounds of various objects being thrown about the room directly underneath hadn't either. In fact, the young heir had not been bothered until nearly half an hour later, when a very tired and defeated looking Tamaki trudged up his stairs, carrying what looked like a tray with two plates and two glasses upon it.

Again, the Ootori refused to take his eyes off of the screen in front of him, and just listened as Tamaki walked over to his bed, placing the tray upon it, and then collapsing onto the floor in front of that bed, sighing dramatically. There were a few moments of silence before Kyouya decided it was too much, turning around in his chair to look at the exhausted blond with one raised eyebrow. "And did you accomplish what you wanted to?" the words were laced with sarcasm, and Tamaki knew instantly that Kyouya was actually asking what he had been doing for nearly six hours in his kitchen.

The blonde smiled sheepishly, shrugging before he began to explain himself. "When I arrived, your body-guard told me that you hadn't left your wing. And since it was Sunday, I figured you were going to spend the day up here on your computer." his smile didn't face as his combed back his bangs, letting them fall right back onto his forehead before he continued. "And because I'm such an intelligent being, I came to the assumption that you hadn't eaten yet today."

Unsure of how he came to this conclusion, but refraining from telling the blonde that he had, in fact, eaten breakfast when he woke up at noon, he merely nodded, waiting for Tamaki to finish. "So," he continued, turning and smiling brightly at the other, "I decided I'd make you dinner!"

Kyouya glanced at the tray, noticing that upon the two plates were two sandwiches, cut into four triangles, two upon each plate. Each of the glasses was filled with a drink, milk, Kyouya instantly recognized. Shaking his head, the third son sighed and stood up, stretching slightly as he walked over to his bed. The king sat, happily, in front of it, resembling that of a dog waiting for his treat. "And you made..." Kyouya asked his hands in his pockets as he stood next to the blonde.

"Peanut butter sandwiches! I tried a lot of other things, but I couldn't get them to turn out right, and then the microwave caught this one meal on fire, and your power surged, and..." the blonde's violet eyes hurriedly went from the tray to Kyouya, as if somehow his treat was slipping through his paws. "I was going to make peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but you didn't have any jelly, and I don't really like jelly anyways, so I just made...these!" Grabbing the tray, almost knocking the glasses of milk over in the process, Tamaki held it up to Kyouya, that bright smile having returned.

The Ootori took the plate, looking upon it with a mixture of disbelief and disgust, before looking down at Tamaki over the edge of his thin-framed glasses. "You do realize how much of an idiot you are, don't you?" he asked, kicking Tamaki as he did a year or so ago, giving him the same reaction - a whole-hearted laugh. The Shadow King smiled, sitting down next to where Tamaki sat back up, placing the tray down on the ground in front of the two of them.

"I do," the blonde finally said, smiling as he picked up his own sandwich. "But think: Daddy made Mommy dinner! Isn't Mommy proud?" he had his puppy-dog eyes again, begging Kyouya for that treat once more, still looking at him as he took his first bite of the sandwich. Mommy rolled his eyes, picking up his own triangled sandwich before looking at Tamaki again. The blonde smiled slightly, chewing on the bite he had taken, before he returned to his puppy eyes, at which Kyouya sighed.

"Fine, fine, fine. Yes, Mommy is very proud." Kyouya muttered, placing his sandwich down. "Thank you for making me dinner, Daddy." As soon as the words left his mouth, the Ootori son leaned foreword, kissing the blonde. He could feel Tamaki lean towards him, dropping his half of his sandwich as his hand slowly made its way around Kyouya's neck.

The night had gone on, and soon enough, all four triangles had been consumed, each bite giving the two heirs another reason to kiss. The two boys always did think that peanut butter tasted better when it came from the other, and that had proved to not only take up time, but energy as well. The Ootori sighed slightly, looking up at his ceiling from his bed; next to him the blonde had fallen asleep on his shoulder, and was breathing softly. His ebony eyes glanced to his side, the red numbers still blinking. But this time Kyouya had no other clock to turn to, his laptop still sitting on his desk, half closed, the battery having run out.

The numbers blinked, just as periodically, giving him the time of 6:32 P.M.

Kyouya smiled. It was time for dinner.


End file.
